Theodore Roethke (on His Birthday) [by David Lehman]

No anthology is as nearly complete as the editor wishes. In the case of The Best American Erotic Poems (2008), permission for the use of several poems was denied. Theodore Roethke's 1958 poem "The Sensualists," for example, had an honored place in the book. And his reputation could use a boost. But it was not to be. I would love to post that poem here, but that doesn't seem right. So I'll just refer you, dear reader, to Roethke's Collected and I'll write you a brief head note. Here goes:

Theodore Roethke (1908 –– 1963). Born in Saginaw, Michigan, on May 25, Roethke spent many boyhood hours in the greenhouses that his father and uncle operated and owned. The poet was a big man –– six feet two and over two hundred pounds –– and for a time he coached tennis at the colleges where he taught. He was of the generation of American poets who delt they had to contend with the shadow of William Butler Yeats. In "How to Write Like Somebody Else" (1959), Roethke referred to Yeats as a father figure and wrote that writing meant "daring to compete with papa."

At the University of Washington, where he held a faculty appointment from 1947 until his death, Roethke exerted a powerful influence on student poets, among them Richard Hugo, Carolyn Kizer, and David Wagoner. "Poetry is an act of mischief," Roethke wrote. He accumulated aphorisms and observations in the manner of Wallace Stevens. In "The Poet's Business," for example, he notes that "A poet is judged, in part, by the influences he resists." I'm not certain I agree that "a `movement' is a dead fashion" -- this seems just clever -- but the idea that "almost all language is dead metaphor" succinctly states the poet's challenge. As one who spent time at Bennington College, as Roethke did, I prize this notebook entry from the 1940s: "Going to Bennington [is] a little like going into the Marines."

Roethke wrote two poems entitled "The Waking." Both are included in "The Oxford Book of American Poetry." Here is the villanelle he wrote under that title:

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.   

I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.   

I learn by going where I have to go.

 

We think by feeling. What is there to know?   

I hear my being dance from ear to ear.   

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

 

Of those so close beside me, which are you?   

God bless the Ground!   I shall walk softly there,   

And learn by going where I have to go.

 

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?   

The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;   

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

 

Great Nature has another thing to do   

To you and me; so take the lively air,   

And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

 

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.   

What falls away is always. And is near.   

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.   

I learn by going where I have to go.

-- DL

Comments

[Sally Ashton]

One of my favorite poems. Thanks.

[The Best American Poetry]

Thank you, Sally.